


Spring Cleaning

by TelepathicTeaTime



Category: Persona 3, Persona Series
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 19:12:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18016742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TelepathicTeaTime/pseuds/TelepathicTeaTime
Summary: With springtime in full bloom, the members of S.E.E.S find themselves with a lot of cleaning up to do, especially Shinjiro Aragaki. He soon finds that some things are much harder to pack away than others, and accepting a little bit of help with the task might be even harder still.





	Spring Cleaning

**Author's Note:**

> I know that The Answer takes place much sooner after the ending of the game than the timeline I've presented here but uhhhh, Atlus’ idea of how long grieving actually takes is super fucky so I just kinda ignored it!

_**“The dead...where aren't they?”** _

_**Franz Wright** _

 

Shinjiro Aragaki had never been one to wallow in self-pity. There was no sense, no dignity in it at all, and it's not like complaining ever actually helped solve anything anyways.

Who was he to act like he was the only one who had ever faced hardship? How could he complain about all the tough shit life had so readily tossed his way when there were so many other people out there who were suffering just the same, if not worse?

So what he had grown up alone, without a family? So had all the other pallid faced, heart crushed kids around him in the orphanage, who wailed like ghosts in the night from their tiny iron posted bunks for parents they’d never see again or never even know. Like Aki, who when he wasn't blubbering like a baby would go into dark-eyed fits of rage and strike at anything within reach of his trembling, white knuckled fists. Like Miki, who never got to grow up with toys or friends, who didn't get the chance to grow up at all. 

__

Did it matter that for two years he had to swallow literal poison to keep his good for absolutely fucking nothing persona in check, crippling his lungs and rotting his guts? He had cut an innocent life needlessly short because of his useless power, and had by his own hand made just one more orphan for him to know, ignited one more heart in a blaze of fury and revenge that no child should ever have to experience.

And when that fire finally found him again, ready to swiftly deliver him to hell where he rightfully belonged, he had been more than ready for it. It was what he deserved, it was exactly how things were supposed to be, it was the same suffering that had made up his entire existence… why shouldn’t it had been the one to end it as well?

__

He wasn't special in the least, and had never once expected life to treat him as such, to spare him even a single shred of mercy.

And yet, standing in front of the oak door shut tightly before him, his hands shoved deep in his pockets not out of his usual nonchalance, but to hide the to the marrow tremors twitching through his fingers, Shinjiro couldn't help but wonder for probably the first time in his miserable life-

_ Fuck. Why this? Why me? _

As soon as he's thought it, though, he ducked his head low in self-loathing, cold grief creeping up from whatever scraps were left of his heart to meet with the burning anger fuming from his brain, a horrible storm brewing right behind his eyes that blurred his vision and filled his ears with muffled static.

Why  _ him _ ? No, that wasn't the right question to be asking at all, he realized as he slowly forced his hand out of his pocket and towards the door before him, the knob gleaming at him like a cruel smile ready to bite. What he really wanted to know, to understand more than anything he'd ever been forced to endure before was-

_ Why her? _

__

“Shinji. You don't have to do this.”

Akihiko stopped him just as his fingertips met smooth brass. He had secretly been hoping for some sort of spark upon contact, that he'd feel the touch of her hand, a  _ whisper _ of the touch of her hand, where she so often came and went. The knob was just cold with the chill of the dorm's air conditioner, though. The dead never leave any of of their precious energy behind, no fleeting glimpses of what made them so special, so easy to love-

But they do leave behind all their stuff that needs to be packed and stored away. So someone else, someone still alive, may shuffle in and take their place.

_ Take her place?  _ Shinjiro could see crimson eyes sparkling at him like he was someone actually worth a damn, a smile as soft and sweet as it was, still strong enough to completely bulldoze every single wall he had ever built up around his heart.  _ Yeah right… _

He was pulled from these memories by a gentle hand on his shoulder. The face he could still see so clearly in his mind gave way to another as Mitsuru stepped up beside him, her mouth set in a thin, concerned line. Usually her eyes were clear and focused, alive with intricate thought and plans, but today… they were cloudy with heavy emotion, brimming with rain yet to fall. 

“Akihiko is right.” Her tone was firm, but she spoke to him quietly, as if she thought she would break him like glass if she spoke at a higher volume. Like he was that delicate, as if he hadn't been busted up into a million fucking pieces already, she continued, “All things considered, it might be best for you to sit this one out, Shinjiro. You have your own health to think about. Please… please consider just leaving this to us today.”

__

The  _ us  _ Mitsuru mentioned were quick to pipe up in ready agreement around him.

“Yeah, Senpai. You only just woke up hardly a month ago, the physical therapy alone must be really exhausting on you both physically and mentally without all the added stress of dealing with… O-of taking care of…” Yukari gestured vaguely towards the door before she swiped at her eyes with the pink sleeve of her sweater, having been in tears on and off throughout the entire morning, but the look on her face was compassionate as she stared at him directly. “If you really want to do this, you can but….You don't have to push yourself either, okay? We got your back.”

“Umm, yeah, man. Yeah.” Junpei nodded beside her,  fiddling with the brim of his cap with an anxious energy that had been persistent in his movements all day. He seemed just about ready to crawl out of his own skin, and run somewhere as far as his long legs could take him. “Yukari's right, Shinjiro-senpai. This sort of thing…” he averted his gaze towards the tops of his shoes and swallowed thickly, as if willing them not to bolt and deliver him to the comfort of wherever his artsy girlfriend was staying, “Even when you think you're strong, this stuff is really tough. It can hurt a lot. It... _ does  _ hurt a lot.”

Always a mediator, a beacon of compassion in the worst of situations, and not nearly as timid as Shinjiro remembered her from their previous time spent together in the kitchen, Fuuka  bravely stepped forward to remind everyone, “This is going to be difficult for all of us. Even though it's been a little bit of time now, we're all still hurting, and doing what we have to do today might make the pain a little worse. Maybe even,” she stopped to take a shaky breath and compose herself, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her sweater before continuing on, “a  _ lot  _ worse. But what's gotten us through all the other painful times is sticking together as a team, as friends, and believing in each other. I know we're all especially worried about Shinjiro-senpai right now, but if he says he's ready to do this, we should believe in him a little more and work through this together.”

There was a hush after Fuuka's speech faded away into the hall, a stillness between all of them as they stood in awe around her, before it was broken by a loud sniff, a dam about to break and sweep away anyone in its path.

“F-fuuka…!” Yukari sobbed, rushing forward to tightly embrace her friend, throwing her arms around the smaller girl so tightly she nearly sent them both crashing to the green carpet below. 

Fuuka was flustered for only a moment, before her own eyes began to mist with tears as she returned the gesture, her hands clutching at Yukari’s back like they were both adrift at sea, trying desperately to stay together through the storm they’d found themselves in, “Yukari, it's...it's okay. I'm here. We're all h-here. Shhh…”

__

The sight of the two girls collapsed in each other's arms, crying out in pain that could not be eased, was agonizing. Mitsuru brought a trembling hand to her mouth and abruptly turned away, the brave upright line of her back giving way to a broken, defeated slouch as she too began to weep quietly to herself. Shinjiro didn't even have to look to know what Akihiko was about to do, and even counted the exact seconds it took to hear him hiss out a curse before slamming his fist squarely into the wall. Once. Twice. Again. And again.

“Oh man, this is…dammit, this is…” he heard Junpei's voice crack from where he slumped against the wall behind him, hiding his face under both his hands as he slid down the wall to the floor. “Why this, dammit?!! This is messed up! We shouldn’t have to do this shit, it’s not fair!”

__

Shinjiro forced himself not to look at any of them, instead shutting his eyes tight, willing them not to start burning too, and found himself in that horrible moment wishing that he had never ever woken up from his damn coma. At least that way he never would have been in the situation he was in now, the pain he was in now. 

Maybe, if he had just died the way he should’ve that cold autumn night, he would have been ready and waiting for her. Maybe they’d be together right now…

Something ugly and vicious and raw was beginning to build up inside him as the team fell further apart in their grief around him, a feeling he had not felt since Castor still thrashed about within his heart and mind. It burned like black fire in his brain, it chilled like reaper's breath in his chest, it was a fury so powerful and violent that his weak and battered body was going to rip at the fucking seams so that it could escape and rampage on everything and everyone it possibly could if they did not quit their fucking crying right now-

_ “Arf!” _

“That is enough!  _ Please.” _

Shinjiro opened his eyes and, as the red television static slowly drained from his vision, saw Aigis and Koromaru standing defiantly in the middle of the hall, staring everyone down with focused, level stares. “That is...enough.” Aigis repeated again, albeit much more softly this time around now that everyone had given pause. There was no other sound besides the whir of her mechanical legs as she strode over to Yukari and Fuuka, with all the strength and grace of a valkyrie delivering her blessings to the mortals who believed in her.

“Dry your tears.” She commanded gently, wiping at Yukari's face with her thumb and tucking her brunette hair behind her ears and out of her flushed face.

“Keep your chin up, high.” She instructed Fuuka, tilting her chin up with a soft push of her knuckles before brushing at her bangs, soothing as a breeze.

She turned to Junpei and nodded in response to his dazed, teary stare with a small smile, “Stand up tall, be brave. Remember, Junpei-san, that you are...da man.”

In agreement, Koro began to tug at his pant leg with an insistent growl, which was enough to make Junpei let out a shaky laugh, swipe at his leaky eyes and running nose with the back of his arm. “Okay, okay…” he sighed before unsteadily rising back to his feet, giving the dog a grateful pat on his way up.

Not finished yet, the android, more human and stronger than she'd ever been as just a weapon, went to confront Akihiko and Mitsuru next. 

“Please. No more anger,” she bid Akihiko, using both her hands to unfurl his battered fist so that she could clasp it snugly between her palms. She didn't let go until his chest stopped heaving, and after throwing a lost glance Shinjiro's way and taking one last shuddery breath, squeezed her hand back tightly before letting his own fall back to his side.

Having witnessed everyone else's scolding, Mitsuru was already pulling herself together by the time Aigis got to her, and flashed a weak and apologetic smile as the robot clasped her hands over her still trembling shoulders. “No more weakness?” She offered, and Aigis returned her smile with a shake of her head. 

“No more falling apart.”

With all eyes on her, Aigis stood up tall and straight, back to back with Shinjiro in front of that single oak door that was giving them all this damn grief. “Everything I just told you to do… those are the things I know our leader would say if she was still here with us. She would never want us to suffer like this.”

He could feel the curve of her elbow as she tucked it in to place a splayed hand over where her human heart would have been in her chest, “I know this loss has wounded us more than we ever thought we could bare. But… knowing Minako, she would want us to bare it.” She paused for a beat, then corrected herself, “No. She wouldn't want us to simply bare it. She would want us to accept it. Move past it. Find happiness again. Even more so, just as Fuuka-chan stated earlier, she would want us to do so  _ together. _ Without all these tears, without all this pain. We all know that Minako could smile her way through anything, no matter how scared or hurt she felt. It was her way of being brave, for her sake, and for all of our's. We should try to follow her example and stay positive through what we're about to do.”

Aigis turned, and swiftly placed her hand over Shinjiro's atop the doorknob, and sure as shit she was smiling bright, like nothing was amiss at all. “We have had the time to grieve for ourselves, we have shed more tears than Minako would ever want us to. Today is the day we honor Minako's wishes and make peace with her absence, with our heads held high. Right, everyone?”

“That's right, Aigis-san.”

Shinjiro suddenly found himself flanked on all sides. Sitting steadfast at his heel between him and Aigis was Koro-chan, who stared at him with wide, clear eyes and alert ears. As keen as ever, the white canine  seemed to understand that this was something very important to everyone around, and was happy to follow their lead.

And to his left he felt the smallest pressure on his arm, and tilted his chin down to see Ken ever so gently holding on to his sleeve. He had been hiding down the hall by himself near the vending machines all this time, his head ducked deep into his orange hoodie where his muffled weeping could just barely been heard, but it seemed like the power in Aigis’ words had reached him and inspired him to take a stand too.

The kid's bottom lip was trembling like an autumn leaf in a cold wind, but it was obvious he was being as brave as he could be, the determination in his eyes resolute. He addressed not the entire team, but him alone as he vowed quietly, “I'm with you, Shinjiro-senpai. I'm done with crying, especially by myself. We'll do this together.”

__

It was then Shinjiro realized everyone was waiting for him to finally have his say, for him to make a stirring speech of his own and rally their emotions.

_ What does our dead leader's very own left behind boyfriend have to say about all of this? _

Before everything, before his coma and most of all, before  _ her _ ...all this fussing and worrying and attention on him would have really pissed Shinjiro off. Even now a small part of him wanted to hiss at the small group gathered around him to quit their yapping and shove their pity somewhere not very polite, and for a split second he even had the wild idea of kicking the door down completely in an explosion of splinters and hinges just to show them all how strong he still was and how this wasn't a big a deal as they were making it out to be, but he wasn't that Shinjiro anymore, hadn't been since October. 

_ ‘You big dummy!’  _ He could hear her voice like she was waiting on just the other side of the door for him, lips curled in a cheeky grin and fist raised as if she meant to thump him on the shoulder. ‘ _ They're not underestimating you, senpai, they're supporting you! Caring about you!’  _ And here maybe her voice would grow a little softer, and she'd place her hand, so dainty and warm, over his cold and calloused ones and urge him,  _ ‘'Let them. Please?’ _

Shinjiro looked down at Ken and back at Koromaru. He glanced up at Akihiko and Mitsuru who met his gaze unflinching, their hands a warm and supportive pressure on his arm and shoulder. He glanced over at the underclassmen who had all gathered closer in a half circle behind him, Fuuka and Yukari offering small, quiet smiles, and a determined nod from Junpei. Only Aigis spoke in the hushed silence that had befallen the group, an invitation to finally start what they'd all been dreading to do since March.

“Shall we?”

He had never been one for words, really. What you said didn't amount to shit if you didn't do anything to back it up. It was better to shut your mouth and just  _ do it already. _

Shinjiro turned back towards the door, and without another word, finally swung it open.

__

It was time for spring cleaning, after all.

__****  
  


It would have been typical, expected even, to say that Minako's room was untouched from how she's left it on the morning of March 5th. That nothing had been disturbed, and that until that very moment, she'd been the last one to be standing in her room alive and well.

But it just wouldn't have been true.

Shinjiro knew that everyone in the small crowd around him had stopped by for their own private visit at least once since their leader, and more so, their cherished friend, had died. Her bedspread, though still neatly made, was creased and wrinkled from people sinking heavily unto it, to think, to wonder, to cry. 

There were signs of half hearted false starts to getting her room packed up before today too. Her mirror had been taken off the wall but had gone no further than simply leaning against it on the floor, and there was a lone box sitting near her closet packed only with a single red scarf and an orange sweater, the colors bright and warm against the drab cardboard.

The only indicator that time had stopped in this room, that the person who once called it home was no longer there, no longer  _ anywhere-  _ was the calendar hanging over the bed. Though it was already the second week of April, according to Minako's calendar it was still March, still the morning of graduation day. Unlike the days preceding it, there was no bright red X in the box to signal its end, that it had come and gone. The rest of the boxes, the rest of the days, every single one of them, remained unfilled too. 

__

Blank. Empty.  _ Unlived. _

__

Shinjiro had only stopped in her room once himself, his first full night back after finally,  _ finally  _ being discharged from the damn hospital officially, but had gone no further than the doorway. To simply invite himself in when just months ago he'd denied Minako's direct invitation (though that certainly hadn't stopped her from weaseling her way into his own room...and bed...and arms…) made him feel like shit, really drove home the fact he had  _ just missed her _ . If he had only woken up a few days earlier, hell, even just a  _ single  _ full day earlier, she would have been in there waiting for him, alive and bright and...and so happy to see him…

In the short time he'd stood there, he hadn't seen the calendar, or the pajamas that were still out and unfolded, the body that'd occupied them too weak to put them away properly that final morning. All Shinjiro had been able to see that first visit was  _ who wasn't there _ , and that absence, the sight of nobody at all, had pierced him worse than any bullet ever could.

And with his nose filled with the scent of her and his eyes brewing with tears, he had simply slammed the door shut and walked away.

He had been weak then, nowhere near ready. His head had been crammed with too many complicated thoughts, his heart a bloody pulp strangled in a barbed wire knot of emotion. He had still been able to conjure the weight of her body existing, and just as quickly, unexisting, in his arms.

He was prepared now, though. And this capability didn't come from being surrounded on all sides by other people who had loved her as he had, who were hurting as he was. It didn't come from the little bit of time that had passed since she had died, of careful inner reflection or finding closure in his memories.

Everything within him had simply gone still, gone quiet. 

Truth be told, what he had been feeling at the door had been the most he had felt since the day of her funeral. It had been like the tide receding further and further back in preparation for a big and terrible wave, momentarily exposing all the disgusting muk and broken glass lurking just out of sight on the shore, but with the opening of the door that wave had finally come crashing down hard upon him.

Submerged once more in the cold numbness he'd come to know so well in the past month, Shinjiro glanced at his friends surrounding him and could no longer relate to their teary eyes or trembling hands, and feeling smothered by their proximity, was the first to step forward.

“Alright,” he finally spoke, and to his own ears his voice sounded like it was coming up from the bottom of a deep black sea. He wondered if the others had even heard him at all. “Let's do this.”

__****  
  


After standing together in a silent huddle for a few unbroken moments, maybe to wipe at their eyes or find their nerve one last time, the remaining members of SEES slowly began to disperse about their leader's room behind him. Fuuka and Aigis wandered over to the bed with its cheerful red and pink checkerboard spread, where Aigis commented without hesitation, without shame,

“There were so many nights where I would find myself leaving my own room and standing at this very spot beside her.” Gently running her fingers over the pillow, she added with a sad smile, “She always slept so peacefully, so beautifully, that I was content to just watch over her for hours. Even in the very end, that is how she slept. At peace.”

__

From where he stood at her study desk, Shinjiro remembered that about Minako, too, but didn't dare venture his agreement aloud. Besides that sunny spring day on the roof, he had also watched her sleep for awhile that precious, one long night they'd spent together right before his… atonement. 

She had seemed so small curled up close against the length of his own body, all the fierce fire she was in Tartarus and dancing flame she was during the day simmered down to a warm ember glow that warmed his heart right up, made him feel like he had never known the cold brutality of the streets, like he'd never known a lonely night in his life. Though they'd done nothing but touch the second he locked the door behind them, Shinjiro still wasn't content and found himself unable to resist running his hand over her even as she dozed, gently brushing her mussed hair over her bare shoulder, letting his hand ghost over her lean back, the gentle slope of her waist. It was kind of hard for him to believe that was she real at all, that someone as perfect as her was happy to be beside someone as awful as him like this. To feel her, all actual flesh and blood and not pill induced hallucination mist at his fingertips, was a reassurance that yes, she was real. This was all real. Someone loved him, and he loved someone in return.

_ Holy shit… _

Her body was smattered with faint scars and bruises sustained from their battles against the shadows, he could easily identify which gashes came from the cruel hook of claws and which came from cutting gusts of wind, but the one his gaze returned to the most was the heavy, white lined scar just below her breasts, marking her sternum like a treasure spot on a map. She hadn't missed a beat in pointing it out to him earlier, even though his attention had definitely been focused on, well,  _ other sights _ ...but it seemed important to her that he knew that particular scar's story.

“I know it's ugly looking, right?” She nearly boasted, laughing easily at herself before her expression grew melancholic and soft. She had spoken so quietly then, that Shinjiro had to lean in close, bridging their foreheads gently together, for him to hear her at all. “But it's important, Shinji. I got it in the accident that took my parents away...With the way it's shaped, I always thought of it like a door, or… maybe a seal? leading to my heart, and when my parents died, they opened this spot up like a trap door and just walked right out of my heart for good.” 

With a sigh, she had closed her eyes and guided his hand to rest directly over the scar, trusting him enough not to flinch away (of course he hadn’t), but even after sharing such a painful secret with him, she had still found the strength to smile. “But I know how silly that is now. Once you really love someone with your whole heart like that, there's no way they can ever leave you. It's like… they don't just take up space in your heart, they become an actual, important part of it. The best parts of it, even.” Her eyes were gleaming happily when she reopened them, and staring right into his had promised him fondly, “Just like you, Shinji. You're the very best part of mine. You'll always be in my heart, okay?”

And dammit, that alone had nearly been enough to kill him right then and there on the spot, his chest clenching in a way completely different than the way the suppressants made him seize, or the way Castor would sometimes crush him under his unforgiving pressure. It was guilt, over what he had done in the past and what he was about to do in just a few days time to answer for it. It was fear, that maybe now he didn't actually  _ want  _ to do what had to be done, or that when it mattered, he'd no longer be brave enough to meet the fate he knew he deserved head on. More than that, it was a sense of anguish that if he did meet this fate after all, if he let vengeance take him as it should, it was going to make Minako hurt so badly it'd rip a whole new scar, bloody and raw, right into her beautiful heart. 

A new exit door carved exactly to his silhouette.

_ How could he still do this? _

_ How could he not… _

Shinjiro must have been lost in his anxiety longer than he thought, for suddenly he was pulled back into the present by both of Minako's hands cupping his face, her red eyes worriedly searching his glassy ones for any sign that he was still with her in that moment.

“Shinjiro? Are you alright?” She whispered, stroking his cheek tenderly with her thumb in small circles. “Where did you go? I'm here with you, okay? I'm right here…”

Under her warm hands, he felt very cold, like a corpse. It was strange to think about how soon he’d actually be one, how much he felt like a dead man already, but...

Breathing deeply through his nose, he had captured one her hands beneath one of his own, and used the feeling to anchor himself back to the present moment. The past could not be rewritten, and he knew in the depth of his decaying soul that there really was no future for him or this new and beautiful thing he had found with Minako, that this would be as far as their story together went.  All they had was right then, and he wasn't going to hold himself back from enjoying it for a single moment, just as he had warned her earlier.

Her lips had been slightly parted to speak to him once more, but he never let her say whatever she was going to say. He caught her in his arms, in a desperate and hungry kiss, and from there on out there had been no more need for words between them.

__

“Shinji? Shinji! Are you alright?”

His eyes snapped open and both Minako and his room were gone, gone,  _ gone- _  the whiplash from being tossed from the past to the present so violently abrupt he thought for sure he'd vomit all over his boots.

At some point he'd braced himself against the back of her study desk chair, and had slowly begun to wilt under the weight of his memory- her memory?  _ Their memory… _

Letting out a slow, deep breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding in, Shinjiro regarded his best friend's hand clamped tightly on his shoulder with a small scowl.

_ Classic Aki…  _ always so quick to worry, so easy to panic, and Shinjiro made sure to tell him so as he straightened back up to his usual slouch, as if nothing had been amiss with him at all. “Hey, Aki… remember two minutes ago when we all agreed to keep calm and just get this over with?” He shrugged his arm free from the bruised fingers clutching at him, and turned himself closer to the desk, leaned over like he was inspecting something real important like about it, like the shapes in the wood grain. “Maybe that's something you should keep in mind as you get to work.” He spat it out with enough impatience to signal that he was done talking about it now, talking to him at all.

But Shinjiro could still feel Akihiko's eyes on him, and not just his, but the rest of the teams’ too. Pitiful, weepy, so damn worried. Even Koromaru came trotting over to him at once, pawing at his spindly leg with a concerned whine. 

Rolling his eyes to keep himself from cracking a smile at the dog, who always seemed able to crowbar one out of him,  Shinjiro ruffled his ears and gruffed, “I'm fine, alright?” And then he dragged his gaze across everyone in the room who was  _ still fucking staring at him  _ and repeated with a louder bite for good measure, “I'm  _ fine.”  _ before turning his attention back to the desk in full.

He could practically feel the air around him shift as Akihiko drew in a breath to begin protesting, about to call him out for another stupid argument, but Mitsuru must have sensed it too for she quickly called out to him from where she stood beside Minako's closet with an orange blouse in hand, “Akihiko! I could use your assistance over here now, if you'd please!  _ Now.” _

Shinjiro refused to give him the pleasure of a final stare down before he finally turned sharply on his heel and walked away, instead piling up some of Minako's notebooks in a stack before him.

Yeah, her desk would definitely be the easiest spot for him to work on. It wouldn't smell as strongly as her the way clearing out her bed or closet would, and it wouldn't piss him off the way cleaning out her mini fridge would, seeing all the food she never had a chance to eat gone to waste, all the junk food he often scolded her for enjoying more than her vegetables taunting him with their brightly colored wrappers and adorable, bullshit mascots.

_ Using cute animals to trick her into eating that crap...unforgivable! _

There'd be nothing painful to be found in Minako's old school notes, though. Nothing about mathematical equations, or English vocabulary, or the ancient history of Japan, reminded Shinjiro of her at all. He had hated everything,  _ everything  _ about the little time he spent in school, and had absolutely adored everything about Minako in the short time they'd had together.

Oh yeah, it'd be as easy as swiping it all right into the trash bin-

“Umm, Shinjiro-senpai?”

His arm already poised to knock all the notebooks off the desk and into the awaiting trash can, Shinjiro paused and nodded in acknowledgement to Ken, who was fidgeting beside him. At the sight of this timidness, he immediately  tried to soften his voice a bit, lose some of the usual cut in his speech. He tried to let some of the taut-wire tension in his shoulders give way as well, the closed up hunch of his shoulders melting into a more open, easygoing posture that looked unusual on him, like he was an imposter in his own skin. “Yeah, Ken-kun? What's up?”

__

The bond the two of them shared now was something still very delicate, and very precious to Shinjiro, and if he was being honest, one of the only things he felt had left to protect in the world. For a story whose beginning had been inked in blood and tears, was supposed to have come to an abrupt end by the work of their own hands and their own hearts, that there would ever be a time when the word  _ bond  _ would apply to them at all was still a shock to the older boy. He had never expected Ken to forgive him just because he had survived that cold autumn night under the full moon, let alone begin to follow him around like some pint-sized shadow, keeping a constant eye on him not out of hateful distrust but of quiet worry. It had been a slow, stumbling dance atop of eggshells between them at first, but that had finally changed the day of Minako’s funeral. 

As she had no blood family of her own, S.E.E.S had been allowed the honor of being the first ushered into the ceremony space that day, their small stitched together family the closest thing she’d had to a real one. They had all moved as a single unit as they shuffled their way up to the altar, shoulder to shoulder and hand in trembling hand, the air thick with the smell of burning incense and the cascade of flowers spilling out all around her picture.

_ Her picture… _

She was all candy smiles and bright cherry eyes even in her funeral portrait, the heavy black ribbon crowning the frame doing nothing to dim the light she excluded even through a photograph alone.

Though most of them had started gently weeping the second the attendant had unlocked the door, to stand before Minako’s grinning face and realize that was all she was now, all she would ever be, that was when the floodgates had really opened up wide and messy. It had been a scene not unlike the one in the hallway from this morning, all anguished howling and collapsed knees, but that day there had been no effort made to keep themselves together. 

Ken had been trying his absolute damndest to be brave even as his senpai fell to pieces around him, biting down hard on his lip and tipping his chin all the way back so that the tears dancing on his lashes wouldn’t start streaking down his face. His hands had been bunched up tight in the loose fabric of his suit jacket, his knuckles stark white against the blackness of his clothes. It was obvious he was fighting his grief with every shred of strength he had, every inner plea to be as courageous as a superhero would be in this sort of situation. But then he blinked hard, and when he reopened his eyes, he was staring right into Minako’s still ones. The shaking in his arms and shoulders stilled, and he released his bottom lip free from the tight pinch of his teeth, and for a moment it seemed as if he really had found the eye in the midst of the storm raging around him, like maybe he had found some calming thought to help get him through the day.

Shinjiro had been watching him closely through all of this, unable to lift his gaze any higher than the first stair of the altar to stare at the horrible truth awaiting him there, incapable of watching everyone else succumb to their grief when he himself just felt so... _ empty. _

He didn’t feel like he had any tears to shed, or like some howl of terrible anguish was trapped deep in his lungs. There hadn’t even been an aching in his chest that day, no stabbing pain from the pieces of his broken heart. In fact, standing before Minako’s portrait, surrounded on all sides by people crying out for her, it felt less like his heart had been shattered and more like it was just... _ gone.  _ No jagged edges cutting him up, no crumbled dust choking up his lungs. Just a deep dark puncture wound swirling like a black hole within his body, devouring everything he should have been feeling in that moment.

So entirely devoid of his own emotions, his own pain, it had made perfect sense for him to instead worry over someone else. He barely registered the fact his feet had begun to carry him Ken’s way, gently sidestepping around his weeping companions, until he was standing right beside him. He slowly raised his hand, then stopped. 

There was a wide abyss keeping them apart even now, a neverending trench brimming with words left unspoken and actions that could never ever be undone. Phrases like  _ ‘I’m so sorry’  _ and  _ ‘I forgive you’  _ were nothing but dingy little rafts of cardboard in the turbulent sea churning around them, and to simply ignore their past and try to smile through it felt as courageous as sinking beneath the waves with an anchor strapped to his ankle. 

There just… wasn’t anything he could say or do to remedy the past, not really. Even the best words he could think of wouldn’t be the right ones to say, and anything he could do right now wouldn’t erase what had already been done. There was no way to backtrack, and no easy way around it either. From here, at the absolute lowest point they could both possibly be, he could only push forwards and through it.

He finally let his hand drop down onto Ken’s slim shoulder, felt the way it was quaking underneath his fingers. “Hey.”

Ken seemed to react in slow motion, in slow precise steps like he was merely running on autopilot. First blinking hard one more time at the altar, then swiveling his head toward Shinjiro’s hand, and then finally up at his face. It took him a long time to remember how to speak, his mouth just barely opening wide enough for him to mumble back, in voice as soft and crumpled as tissue, “Hey.”

Neither one of them flinched back from the other, and this gave Shinjiro the courage to ask the most obvious, dumbest question of them all. “You alright?”

For his part, Ken seemed to consider the question carefully at least. He furrowed his brows in serious thought, and nodding a little bit to himself, glanced between the explosion of floral arrangements surrounding Minako’s carefree face and the group of people falling to pieces around him, and then down at Koromaru, who was sitting very still and calm at his heels. The sight of his most loyal friend, acting the same as always even when everyone else was so decidedly not, brought a small smile to his lips, and he gave him a gentle pat between his ears before finally looking back up at Shinjiro, his mouth still upturned in a grin even as he finally let his tears flow free. “No, I’m not.” 

Then his face crumpled up completely, and with a hiccuping sob, he lunged himself tight against Shinjiro’s side where he continued to cry for the remainder of the ceremony, his leaky eyes and running nose dampening his shirt down to the skin.

And with that, they had crossed the sea, and scaled the mountain. Clinging to each other during that slow and painful day, they could both feel the deep darkness of the past receding from their backs, the light of new days burning blinding and bright right into their eyes. It was there they found each other, it was there they stood together, and it was there they would stay.

__

And just like the day of the funeral, here they were gravitating toward each other again for support, for comfort. 

Ken noticed Shinjiro’s efforts to soften up and smiled warmly in response. “Heheh, sorry if I startled you just now. I just noticed you were cleaning up Minako’s desk is all. Do you need some help?”

From the way his eyes danced eagerly from Shinjiro’s face to the desk, it was obvious Ken was not just asking but  _ pleading _ to be allowed to join in.

Shinjiro immediately shuffled a few steps aside, giving Ken enough space to stand by his side and help him out. “Heh, yeah, thanks Ken-kun. ‘ppreciate it.”

He had his eyes fixated pointedly on the books in particular, his fingers fumbling nervously with the drawstrings of his hoodie. It seemed like he was still unsure if he had  permission or not to actually touch anything, and Shinjiro tipped his chin towards the desk in silent invitation.

_ Go ahead. _

“Uh, are these…?” The boy reached over and eagerly plucked the first notebook from the top of the stack, turned it over carefully in his small hands like it was some sort of sacred text and not just a high school girl's class notes, “These are- mmmm,  _ were... _ Minako's study notebooks, right?”

Shinjiro tried not to let the pain the correction caused him show on his face, turning his wince into a look of careful contemplation instead. “Hmm, I think so?” he hummed thoughtfully, and flipped the next one open to check for sure.

Minako's handwriting was just as he expected it to be- real cute and girlish, but tidy and to the point as well. She seemed to keep her lessons well organized by date and subject with rows upon rows of bullet points and heavy underlines, a devoted student despite her easy going demeanor. Only a couple of doodles could be found speckled throughout the entirety of the notebook, tucked away into the corners and margins like happy surprises just waiting to be discovered. There were little Koro-chans prancing around historical timelines, and anime heroines pointing their heart shaped wands at the evil that was algebra. One particular drawing she had done especially caught his eye, the amount of time and care that had gone into it enough to make him pause his half-assed skimming and really give it a closer look.

The top of the page began like all the others in the book, with the date of the lecture and what subject was she specifically taking notes for that day. It seemed she had been sitting through a language lesson before making it into her own personal art project instead.

__

_ 10/26/2009, Language _

_ Test Question: Which word is not of Arabic origin? _

_ Answer: Wristwatch _

__

Just below it she had sketched the very same wristwatch he had gifted her at the park during one of their dates, the one he’d been told she was never  _ ever _ seen without afterwards. It was the same watch he had slipped off her cold, limp wrist before they could burn it with the rest of her body and scatter it into sea and sky and sunshine and absolutely everywhere and nowhere at all, the one currently tick tick ticking away in the innermost breast pocket of his jacket, exactly where his old pocket watch had shattered, saving his life. 

Right against his heart.

She had been careful in making the numbers on the face look just right, with their sharp tails and elegant loops. She had remembered the little details in the band as well, the sleek stripes and shiny buckle that had first caught his eye through the shop window that day he’d been stomping around the mall.

__

_ I forgive you I forgive you I forgive you I forgive you…  _

She had penned beneath the drawing in wild, smudged letters, repeating the line like a desperate  prayer until she had run out of room on the page, her writing only getting smaller and more cramped the closer to the bottom corner she got.

I forgive you.

I forgive you.

i forgive you.

__

Clenching his jaw tight enough to feel a dull pop and commanding his hand not to shake with all the willpower he could muster, Shinjiro nodded slowly and closed the notebook as nonchalantly as he could. It took him a minute to get words to form in his brain and outta his mouth, willing himself to hurry as Ken waited on some sort of answer from him.

“Uhh, yeah.” He finally managed lamely, his voice back to its usual rasp from the sudden tightness in his throat. He coughed, trying to clear it, but to his own ears it only made him sound like more of a scoffing asshole. “Hmmphh, these are her notes, alright.”

To Shinjiro's surprise, Ken's whole face lit up at the news, if something so minor could even be referred to as news at all. “Oh wow!” He cheered, and began to flip through the one in his hands with genuine excitement, the way normal kids would've done with the newest volume of their favorite manga. “One time Mitsuru-senpai told me that Minako was always top of the class in  _ all  _ of her exams! She'd see her name at the very top of the list and give her nice rewards for it.” Closing his eyes and clutching the notebook close to his chest, the smile Ken wore on his face was one of great fondness and pride that made his whole face glow. It kind of made him look a love struck cherub. “She was so smart, and nice, and she even liked to watch Feath-”

As if finally noticing how animated he'd become in talking about Minako, Ken coughed and quickly retreated back into his usual more mature, muted tone, the only evidence of the break in his composure being the way his ears were flushed bright red against his face. “Uhh, Shinjiro-senpai? Do you think...do you think she'd be okay with me using her notes to help me study? So I can be at the top of my classes, too?”

Shinjiro didn’t even have to think about it. “Yeah, of course Ken-kun. I think that'd make her real happy to help you out like that. Go for it.” The small smile Shinjiro managed then was the first one he'd shared with someone who wasn't Koro-chan in weeks. It felt a little alien on his face at first, like his face had forgotten entirely what it was attempting to do, but when Ken beamed back up at him, something about it felt pretty good, welcomed, even.

As the boy began to gather up the other books on the table, Shinjiro watched Ken's eyes travel towards the notebook he'd just flipped through himself, with that one damned mess of a page, and trapped it tightly under his hand. He could feel her words, her frantic forgiveness, reaching for his fingertips with their black, inky tendrils through the cover. As if he was simply deep in thought, he drummed his fingers heavily against them, willing them to go away, willing them to stay so he could read them over and over and over again later.

“But uhh, not this one, though, alright? There's a few things in here I want to… copy for myself before I go back to class. A dumbass like me needs all the extra help I can get, you know?”

__

Shinjiro wasn't completely lying. Though he'd sworn up and down it was never going to happen, that he didn't  _ want _ it to happen, as soon as he was done with his physical therapy he was being sent back to school to graduate, albeit a year behind Akihiko and Mitsuru, and not at Gekkoukan High either. The place was filled to the brim with rumors about him from the students, with bias towards him from the faculty, and with memories he didn't want to deal with while trying to get his diploma.

Though the good graces of the Kirijo Group (and their seemingly endless pockets) Mitsuru had instead been able to ensure his transfer to another academy a way’s outside the city, his academic record wiped completely clear and tidy of his past that had been anything but.

“It's the very least I could do for you, Shinjiro.” Mitsuru had ensured him one night in the lounge as he poured over his now perfect attendance record, his above average grades. All lies he'd have to bust his ass to make into reality if he wanted to keep his place within the hoity toity school awaiting him. Apparently it was the second best academy after Gekkoukan, which only made them that much more stricter in their pursuit to be first.

It was going to be one hell of a commitment, that was for sure. An extra long commute every morning and afternoon, requiring him to take both a bus and a train transfer. Wincing at the sprawling list of required textbooks, he realized he'd have to start really studying his ass off too if he wanted to stay on top of all the homework they assigned on the daily, let alone pass tests and ace exams.

_ Fuck. _

Mitsuru had even warned him that he'd have to cut his hair before his first day of class, at least up to his ears, and as he shook some of the said messy locks from his eyes with a low huff, she had gazed at him with a sad smile on her face and said, “It will no doubt be quite the challenge at first, maybe even for a while after. But if anyone can persevere and conquer such difficulties, it's you Shinjiro. We all believe in you.”

He had been unable to return Mitsuru's smile then, or even look long at the conviction, the warmth, that was there in her usually chilly eyes.

He knew he should feel so much more grateful towards her than what he was. She had secured him a seat in this nice new school with a nice new record, all the while still allowing him to remain in the S.E.E.S dorm with everyone else, the closest thing to a home, and having a family, he’d had since the orphanage. Mitsuru had extended him so many chances, so much kindness...and to Shinjiro, it all felt wasted to be used for his sake.

What good reason had he given them to warrant such ignorant belief in him, that he was so strong, so capable? By surviving out on the streets, by taking bullets, by waking up from an especially long nap? 

It was bullshit that they only seemed focused on was what he  _ had  _ done, rather than what he hadn't.

He hadn't been able to control Castor, not for a single day since the horse-mounted bastard had awoken within him, turning his mind and body into a cage that needed to be destroyed.

He hadn't been able to protect the innocent, oblivious to the Dark Hour people S.E.E.S was sworn to protect, instead going as far as killing one, and orphaning a child all in one go.

And he hadn't been there to help the girl he loved when she had needed him most.

The more Shinjiro thought about it, the more he realized that it was all like some horrible, shitty domino effect. If he had been able to keep Castor in check, he never would have destroyed Ken's whole world by killing his mom in front of him. If Ken still had his mom, he would have got to continue to be a happy, normal kid. No scary monsters, no foster homes, no gun against his head or spear clutched tight in his small hand, and no death wish in his heart.

And if he had never had to atone for the blood he spilled, Shinjiro could have been there for Minako through the end of the world, maybe even kept her from making the sacrifice she had been so stupid, so brave, to make. She would be...maybe they could have-

“Study together, sometime. If you would want to, that is.”

Shinji blinked slowly, the back of his eyes humming with all the thoughts of what could have been, _should_ have been, and would never ever be. The hum had been so loud, he had heard nothing else and he shifted towards Ken awkwardly, his face twisted up in sheepish apology. “Uhh, I...I'm sorry Ken-kun. I kinda…” he couldn't find the right way to tell the kid he'd been fantasizing about what it'd be like if he had never made an orphan of him, and vaguely waved his hand from his crinkled forehead to the surrounding air before mumbling, “Um. Spaced out. W-what were you sayin’? I'm all ears now, swear it.”

He had to bite back a lopsided grin at the look that crossed Ken’s face then, one of such over the top eye-rolling exasperation that it was hard to take his incoming scolding all that seriously. “Shinjiro-senpai, that exact kind of inattentiveness is  _ not  _ how you end up on the top of the exam list! In class, you have to stay focused when the teacher’s talking. You’re going to end up like Junpei-san if you’re not careful about  _ spacing out. _ ” Ken mimicked his bizarre hand motion before he poked an accusing finger over towards the cap-wearing senior in question, who was sniffing hesitantly at a pack of mochi he’d found in Minako’s fridge. 

He seemed locked in some internal battle over whether he was going to actually eat it or not, and his hand kept fluttering from the plastic wrapper to scratch nervously at his cheek, a man truly locked in a battle of temptation versus tact. Even Koromaru had trotted over to judge his decision silently, his tail swishing like the scales of Anubis.

Ken and Shinji watched him go back and forth like that for awhile before finally turning to face each other, and only then did Ken’s stern expression falter as they broke into muffled laughter together, both of them forced into ducking their faces behind the notebooks in their hands to avoid any questioning stares from their fellow teammates.

It was easy for Shinjiro to believe in that moment that maybe everything could actually work out okay. If he could stand in her room and be able to genuinely laugh, with Ken of all people at that, maybe he would find a way to keep finding other small moments just like this one to help keep him going. Maybe they could even be as bright as the moments he shared with Minako, and surrounded by his friends, her friends,  _ their  _ little scraped together family in the room with them now- he could have enough fun with them that even she would feel it and smile from whatever beautiful place she had gone off to brighten up. 

Hope blooming in the hollow depth of his chest like a flower bursting forth in spring, Shinjiro lowered the book from his face with a wider smile than the one he’d been wearing previously, and had been about to readily accept Ken’s offer to study together when he noticed the boy’s expression had darkened considerably, the sun trapped in an unexpected eclipse, his eyes rimmed red with unshed tears.

“Ken-kun? H-hey, what’s-” 

The sound of his voice was like a clumsy intruder in the room when he realized everyone else had gone very still and very silent. Ken was staring right past him, not paying him or his words any concern at all. He was clutching the notebooks as tightly to his chest as an overboard sailor would a life preserver. 

As soon as he turned around, following the direction of Ken’s eyes, he found that everyone had paused in their work to stare at the center of the room, right towards them. His neck began to burn red with humiliation, paranoid that they’d heard him laughing and were all regarding him with shocked disbelief, and for a second he was in absolute mental freefall and couldn’t breathe or see at all until he heard the soft bell that was Aigis’ voice, the sweet chime that was Fuuka’s, beckoning him back to Earth, to Minako’s room.

“We’ll do it on the count of three. Is that okay, Fuuka? Take a deep breath, I know you can do this.”

“Okay...I mean, y-yes, Aigis! You’re right!”

All the heat that had begun to burn in Shinjiro’s neck and face dissipated at once, leaving him with an awful chill that sank clear through his skin all the way down to his bones, and then even deeper than that. The notebook in his hands nearly slipped to the floor as his fingers went numb, went slack from the bitter cold of it.

 They were about to strip her bed. Everyone else stopped what they were doing to watch, their faces still. The recent graduates at the closet, Yukari at the vanity, Junpei kneeling at the mini fridge with Koromaru, and him and Ken at her desk. They were all quiet, all empty eyes and bated breath as Aigis began to count.

“One…” her pearly white fingers were gripping the edge of the blanket on side of the bed, her eyes in sharp, clear focus. She was well poised and prepared.

“T-two…” Fuuka whimpered, the bright fabric balled up in her fists on the other side. While she looked nowhere near as poised or prepared as Aigis, the small girl certainly looked brave.

“Three!” The girls cried in unison, and for a moment the air was filled with red and pink; the colors of blushing cheeks and lips puffy from kissing too much, the same red as her eyes and his blood smeared on her tear stained cheek, the same pink as the cherry blossoms that'd been beginning to bloom just as she'd begun to wilt away, the same pink the sky had been at sunset against the black, black smoke drifting from the crematorium-

There actually had been a flash of black in the air when the comforter went up, and a collective “huh?” seemed to pass through all of them in a wave as it fluttered up with the blanket  and then plopped unceremoniously to the floor below, making no sound at all.

“What was that?” Yukari was the first to point it out out loud, setting down the hairbrush she'd been cradling in her hand so she could hurry over to where the mystery… whatever the hell it was had fallen to the floor. It was all crumpled and soft from being hidden under the blankets for so long, and didn't look that much different from a pummeled Shadow with the way it was puddled at Aigis’ feet.

Junpei scratched at his cheek, perplexed. “I dunno? I mean,if you ask me it looks like regular clothes. But why would she hide it like that, eh? Maybe it's her-” And then apparently scandalized by whatever perverted thought had barged its way into his brain uninvited, quickly hid his flushed face under the brim of his hat, “Uhh, nevermind! It's not my business, I don't even wanna know really!”

Aigis’ eyes were fixated on the cloth in a way that suggested she was inspecting it much more closely than the rest of them were doing, her mouth in a thoughtful line.

_ Scan in progress _ .

“Junpei-san is correct. It appears to be clothes, but I do not believe it is the saucy, see-through lingerie he is imagining it to be.” Aigis reported blithely as Junpei wailed with embarrassment into the hat he had now pulled completely over his shamed, red face. 

“Jeez, Junpei, really?! Get your mind out of the gutter! Do you really think our leader was like that?  _ Ugh! _ ” Yukari reprimanded him sharply from over her shoulder as she stooped down to pick it up, her face twisted in disgust. As she lifted it up from the floor, it quickly began to unfold. And unfold. And unfold some more, not into lingerie as Aigis had said, but into a long sleeved sweater that was obviously much too big to fit the slip of a girl whose bed it was in. 

There was a sudden kick in his heart, and Shinjiro felt his stomach plummet to the floor.  _ Oh fuck. Oh no. Oh fuck no... _

Mitsuru, usually so composed, gawked at the sight of it, her well-manicured hand brought up to the shocked little ‘o’ her mouth had become. “O-oh! Was that really...one of her's? It  _ is _ rather big…”  And than as everyone but Shinjiro turned like clockwork to stare at her, stunned at what she was insinuating, intentional or not, she quickly cleared her throat and offered as a more...  _ polite _ alternative with a confident swish of her bangs, “Ah, yes, I see now! Those are simply Minako’s pajamas from that morning, is all.” The confident mask she’d been wearing slipped a little as she quietly murmured, eyes downcast,  “She… she must have been too tired to put them away properly is all.”

No one wanted to mention that Fuuka had already quietly packed away Minako's pajamas from that final morning, and that even if they were, it would have been really odd for Minako to have pulled up her covers and had made her bed  _ over  _ them anyways.  But no one wanted to venture another guess on the matter either. 

The room would've been entirely silent if not for the horrible hum that had returned to vibrate in Shinjiro's brain again, rolling all the way down his spine to his feet like heavy thunder to shake him up. He pretended not to notice the way Aigis was now staring at him as intensely as she had the shirt, her brows furrowed tight and almost angry on her usually soft face. Many types of feelings seemed to be swimming in the blue of her eyes right then, flashing and disappearing sometimes like fish, and others like predators, beneath the waves.

Recognition. Sadness. Jealousy. 

_ Target identified. _

“No. It's not her's.”

At the crasp of his voice, they all turned to look at him in gaped mouth surprise, who was looking not just at the shirt, but at everything that shirt being there meant. In Shinjiro’s eyes, it was less like the sweater was being held aloft by Yukari’s fingers and more like it was floating all on its own, like it was being worn by some cruel ghost who was taunting him, mocking him in front of his friends, making his skin feel as hot and crawly as a mosquito-infested summer night.

Without thought, Shinjiro raised his arm, the veins in his wrist pulsing tight and angry and blue against his skin. Whoever this shithead of a ghost was, he hated it. He hated it so  _ fucking much.  _ It was a ghost he needed to reach out and just-

“It's mine.” He snatched it easily from Yukari's slack with shock fingers and shoved it as deep into his coat pocket as he could fit it, back into the darkness where it should've stayed and slept forever. He had meant only to step close enough to grab it, but in a final stand to humiliate him further, sink him just a little deeper than he already was, the ghost had flowed like black water from his hand down to his feet, and forced them to keep moving forwards in a floor creaking stomp, and he roughly bumped Yukari aside as they kept on moving, carrying him out the door and back into the hall.

He didn’t hurry as he made his way down the stairs to the second floor hall where the boys’ rooms were all lined up, and to anyone who hadn’t witness what had just gone down, Shinjiro would have seemed as unflinchingly composed as he normally was, his features as cold and still as metal. But behind his steely eyes a war of thoughts was raging on, guilt and grief clashing in his brain in a racket strong enough to rattle his teeth even through the tight grind of his jaw.

_ What are you doing, dumbass?! _

_ What happened to not running away? To sticking together? _

_ Why are you such a goddamn coward?! _

_ Minako would  _ hate  _ you for this! _

Roared one half of his brain, the side that knew he was only making shit that much harder for everyone else back in the room, that he looked like a sketchy asshole running off without saying anything about why his shirt had been in Minako’s bed. For christ's sake he had even pushed Yukari, a  _ girl,  _ and not even apologized for it.

_ What is there to say about it?  _ Screamed the other half of his brain in response, the part that seemed adamant about returning back to his coma dreams, back to his memories of September where Minako was as alive as ever. It was the part of his brain that urged him on the especially long, dark nights that if she could longer be here with him, he would do good to finish what Takaya had failed to accomplish and join her by his own efforts instead.

_ She missed me so damn much she slept with one of my shirts. _

_ I hurt her so damn bad and all she had for comfort was a fucking ratty old sweater. How many of her tears are in this thing?  _

_ She needed me and I wasn't there. She spent more time with this fucking shirt than she ever did with me. _

_ Minako isn’t even  _ here  _ to hate me for doing this! _

The walls around the door to his room trembled under the violent force he used to slam it shut behind him, the resounding bang echoing throughout the silence that enveloped the entire dorm, a ripple of wind around a heavy funeral veil.

Throwing off his long coat, Shinjiro had half expected to be chased down by this point, definitely by Aki, maybe Aigis, possibly even Ken (who had taught him the lesson of not running away more than anyone) but as he stood quaking in the middle of his bare bones room, the airless vacuum he had sealed himself away in, he heard no footsteps heading his way and no voices calling out his name.

His clenched fists wilted open, the steel in his shoulders melted, and he finally let himself exhale the shaky, strained breath he'd been holding all morning, the sound heavy with unprocessed emotion.

_ Good. _

He sank like a stone into his bed, and began to weep as he usually slept at night, facedown and still as a corpse save for the miniscule tremble in his shoulders, the jumpy heave in his back.

Shinjiro had always believed that crying wasn't meant to be some over the top spectacle, all loud messy sobbing and contorted faces. In fact, to him crying was something that should be stopped before it even started. The world was mean, and the world was dry. All it thirsted for was tears, and desperate for any drink it could get, it would hurt you with anything, with  _ anyone  _ it could, sink you as far as you could go if it meant getting even a single drop to drink. To cry about anything was to indulge this cruelty,  to show the world it had you exactly where it wanted you to be.

And besides, it was like the worse someone cried about something, the more real their pain and anguish became. All these years later he could still hear the sound of Aki's screaming on the night of the fire, his anguished wailing rising even higher than that of the surrounding sirens. He could easily remember Ken's sobs echoing high and panicked on the graffitied walls of the station alleyway too, crying out to a mother who would never answer him back, the echoes chasing him down and clawing at his back, no matter how long, or how far he tried to run from them.

Shinjiro knew the trick to getting through anything was to simply pretend it didn't hurt, that you were tougher than whatever was trying to hurt you, scare you, completely destroy you. If you didn’t give the world what it wanted, which was all of your misery and all of the tears born from it, sometimes it would leave you alone and move on to easier prey. Even if you had to push those feelings down deep enough to drown hand in hand with all the good ones too, leaving yourself numb.  Even if you just had to fake it and-

_ Keep on smiling, just like that… _

Shinjiro had tried to warn Minako of this lesson he had learned firsthand to spare her some grief back in October, but it had all been for shit. Though his vision had become heavily blurred at the end of things, as grainy and washed out as an old photo in a waterlogged album, he could still remember her face so clearly over him. That smile he loved so much, that she had promised to keep on doing when he had so selfishly asked her to, had been gone gone _ gone- _ replaced with a screwed up, trembling lip that had been crying out for him to  _ come back _ ,  _ please stay _ before he was even completely gone. And the tears, god, he never would have thought anyone, especially a girl as sweet and wonderful as Minako, would have tears to spare on someone like him, but she seemed to have more than enough behind her eyes that night- he couldn't see them quite well but he had certainly felt them rolling wet and hot where his frozen fingers had found the slope of her cheek, felt them dripping down onto his face like they were his own tears, as consistent as rain.

She had cried so much, so hard, for him that night in the alleyway, it had seemed like her heart was the one that was about to stop beating instead of his, like a new door was being carved to his size right out of it.

_ Old wounds always lead to new ones... _

And then he had finally closed his heavy eyes, and in that single blink, half a year had passed and it was spring and now it was Minako’s time to go. It would have made so much more sense for her to be crying her eyes out then. She was dying, and as someone who tried it out for size himself, Shinjiro thought she must have been feeling pretty damn scared about it.

Of course she hadn’t been.

From where he'd been cradling her in his arms, she'd been able to smile just fine, easy fucking peasy, like she was happy to go as long as everyone else was alright, as long as he was alright. She didn’t seem afraid at all of what she was going towards, didn’t seem burdened by what she was leaving behind so soon. It was like... she knew she was leaving things exactly the way they were supposed to be.

_ Idiot! _

Folding his arms tightly over the back of his head, his face shoved as far into his pillow as he could stand it, Shinjiro cried. There was no screaming, or even quiet gasps to be heard from him. His fingers trembled and his shoulders jerked, but his body did not curl up within itself or fall to pieces. 

If he had allowed himself to do so, he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to put himself back together again.

__

At some point he slept, but there were no dreams. No one calling out his name in a sweet reverberating echo, no girl waving at him from the shimmery far off horizon who could smile as easily as she could cry. He tried calling out to her, to plead with her to come back to him, just one more time,  _ please please please... _ but there was no sound, from him, from her, from anyone.  Just a deep, surrounding darkness and the feeling of being nowhere at all with nowhere to go, an elevator trapped between floors. 

__

When Shinjiro finally lifted his face from the damp heat of his pillow, his eyes were as heavy and bleary as coal smoldering in his head, and the light filtering in through the window had changed from the bright blue of the late afternoon to the blazing orange of dusk, the shadows in his room stretched out tall and bruised purple at the edges.

He felt as thin, as barely existent as the dark shapes on the walls, like if given enough time, he too would simply meld away into the dark and vanish without a trace.

_ Wishful thinking.  _

His muscles stiff from being tense and still for so long, he slowly rolled himself over onto his back with a pained wince so that he could stare sluggishly at the orange glow of his ceiling. There was sound in his ears for just a moment, the creaking of his bed beneath him, but then it was silent once more.

The dorm hadn’t been this silent since the funeral, which in a sudden guilty snap reminded him of-

_ Oh, yeah. Shit. _

He strained his ears for any sound from the floor above, curious if the others were still hard at work upstairs, packing up all of Minako's things, keeping up the charade that teamwork and friendship would make the task easier, but he didn't hear any noise floating down from the ceiling at all. He did, though, hear a sound right at his door.

Someone was standing right outside, shifting their weight from foot to foot in nervous anticipation. He had no idea how long they had been out there hesitating, but it seemed the moment was about to finally swell and break. Then there came a deep inhale, a final gathering of courage, and-

_ Knock knock. _

“Hey, Shinji…?”

Shinjiro rolled his swollen eyes and dropped his head back into his pillow with a groan. Aki, of course. Who else would want to be anywhere near him after such an ugly outburst? It seemed there he was nothing he could do, no line he couldn't cross, that could push him away for long- theft, drug use, temper tantrums,  _ murder-  _ none of that seemed to matter in Akihiko's eyes when it came down to him.

_ Fucking moron. _

Shinjiro turned heavily in his bed, making his back a solid, impassable mountain between himself and the rest of his room. He thought about not answering him back at all, knew without a doubt that he'd leave him alone if he just kept his mouth shut, but… guilt still sat as greasy and black as oil in his stomach over what had occured up in Minako's room earlier, and he heard himself calling out roughly without much thought-

“Yeah, whatever. Come in.”

He didn't turn over as the door clicked open and Akihiko shuffled inside, didn't say anything else as the door shut and trapped them in the tomb of wasted hours and pent up rage his room had become. 

Akihiko himself didn't have anything to say either, not at first, anyways, and made no move to come closer from where he stood in the middle of the room. Shinjiro could feel his stare though, piercing into his back like twin bullets. He, in turn, stared deeper into the beige paint of the wall. 

_ If it’s a staring contest he wants he sure as hell ain’t having one with me. _

The air had become as thick as tar, sticky with tension and bubbling with a fight that may or may not have been brewing between them. Mitsuru wasn't there to beckon Akihiko into behaving at her side, Ken wasn't there to remind Shinjiro he had to be better. 

Brawling was such a common occurrence between the two of them it would have hardly warranted any surprise if that’s what it had come down to, though. Akihiko had definitely clocked him for doing a whole lot less, most catalysts for these pummelings so minor Shinjiro couldn't even bring them to memory. For storming out the way he had earlier, for his shirt being in Minako’s bed, and shoving a girl aside without apology to top it all off...he was already bracing himself for the impact of one of Aki's shooting star punches as he heard the boy stalking closer towards the bed, his footsteps quick and boxer light.

Usually Aki would aim for his shit-talking mouth or proud, upturned jaw, but today he'd probably go for the nose or eyes. Somewhere he could leave a clear badge of his shitty behavior, a bright red split lip or dark black eye to broadcast a painful lesson learned.

Shinjiro didn’t care where Akihiko chose to hit him today, or how hard. And he wouldn’t fight back either. This was one beatdown he really had coming…

The bed suddenly creaked under Akihiko’s weight, and Shinji closed his eyes in preparation for the pain heading his way, welcoming it home.

_ C’mon Aki, gimme your best shot... _

Far from a punishing hook, Akihiko’s hand was feather soft on his shoulder, his voice just as gentle as he assured him in an awkward mumble, “H-hey now, Shinji. There’s no need to feel so uhh, embarrassed by what happened earlier. All of us already knew. Um, about you and Minako that is. It’s okay. Really! It wasn’t really much of a secret at all.”

He patted him once, then twice before letting his hand come to an uncertain standstill there. His next words came stumbling out more awkward than the last, as if he was sharing something with him that he was unsure of would cheer him up or make him feel worse. “She was umm, you know, real proud actually. About...well, about how much you...Well, she loved you. You...must have known that, right?”

Like it was an especially ugly spider that had dropped down from the ceiling, Shinjiro couldn't move fast enough to smack his friend’s hand away. Akihiko’s words didn’t leave him feeling any more hurt, and they certainly didn’t make him feel comforted. Oh no, oh hell no…they left him  _ seething. _

“Embarrassed? Seriously, Aki? I'm...I'm not  _ embarrassed  _ about what went down between me and Minako! Is that seriously what you think that was, you idiot?!” It felt weird to be snapping at the flaking paint of his bedroom wall instead of at Akihiko directly, but he knew if he did, it would have been a disaster. He felt wild and acutely vicious all of a sudden, like a cornered animal. He knew if he caught even a single glimpse of his friend’s face right now he would have headbutted him hard enough to break his smug pretty boy nose and maybe even then he wouldn't have been satisfied. He would have wanted to dislocate his jaw and black out his eyes, tear him limb from limb. He would have done things that even Castor would have been impressed by. But since he didn’t actually use his body as a weapon, he opted to use his words on him instead. “And you think I didn’t know that she was dumb enough to love me? I knew that too, you moron and I told her it was a bad fucking call. Did you really come in here just to run your mouth about how she felt, about how I feel? You don't know  _ shit!” _

Akihiko snarled back in the fiery, impatient tone Shinjiro was a lot more used to hearing than his last oddball attempt at a delicate one, “Then what  _ are  _ you feeling then, Shinji? Huh?! Because it's kind of hard to tell when you keep running away, or locking yourself up in your room like some kinda coward! And I’m not just some idiot, I’m your friend and I’m on your side! You would see that if you would be a man and just- dammit,  _ look at me!” _

Akihiko’s fist was suddenly balled up tight and furious in the fabric of his sleeve, and Shinjiro found himself being tossed violently over onto his other side, his head whiplashing with the force. His eyes wide open, he expected to be met with a fist square in the middle of his face, stars and blood spurting before his vision like painful fireworks, but instead he was met with something even worse- 

Akihiko staring down at him with big watery eyes, looking not even a little bit angry, but wounded. Completely lost. It was a look that had painted his face in pitiful colors often as a child, even more so after Miki had died. It was those same damn lost, spinning compass eyes and weak trembling lip that had caused Shinjiro to stomp up to his side when they first met at the orphanage, and abruptly declare, not even  _ ask _ , that they were going to go play together and be friends and that was that. 

Blinking wordlessly at the sight of this expression after so long, Shinjiro couldn’t help but think grimly how much more he would have preferred the punch instead.

As fierce as the fire in Akihiko’s voice had just been, it was snuffed out in a lonely gust as he nearly pleaded with him to believe him, to remember, “I have always been on your side, Shinji. I always will. Just... _ come on.  _ Talk to me. Please? Ever since Minako died, it's like… well, it's like you died along with her. You seem more like a ghost than the Shinji I know, and I'm worried about you-”

He tried to scoff like he was unimpressed, but the sound was more of a nervous gasp in his own ears, weak as hell.  “You're  _ always  _ worried about-”

“No, not just me. We  _ all  _ are, Shinji! All of us! Do you honestly think today was the first day we've realized how badly you're hurting? Give us a little more credit than that for christ's sake, none of us are as stupid as you think we are!”

Akihiko's words struck him sharp as a lance, and Shinjiro flinched under the sudden stab of guilt they inflicted. Did the others, did everyone else...really believe he thought they were dumb? Not Fuuka, who he tried his best to be patient with as she bumbled her way dangerously through the kitchen, right? And definitely not Mitsuru, who was one of the sharpest, most intelligent people he had ever known? The thought that Ken, too damn wise for his years and already eagerly making his way through high school level study material, thinking he was anything less than gifted nearly ruptured his heart in panic. “H-hey! I never thought-”

By now though, Akihiko was a locomotive free of its squeaky brakes and he barreled through Shinjiro's feeble protest without pause, his words sparking hot and angry, “I get that you think you're too damn cool and capable for help, Shinji, you already proved that to me  _ before-” _

And that single word was a bomb full of all the worst fucking things Shinjiro hated about himself, had tried to destroy himself with- the pills in his pocket and the horse mounted bastard in his soul, all the blood and all of the tears he'd caused others to shed because he was such an absolute fuck up of a human being, a living curse wrapped up in a stupid dumb coat.

“But you need it, Shinji. You  _ do.  _ There's nothing wrong with sharing your burden with someone. If anything, it's more stupid to let it crush you completely just because you wanna act so tough and take it on all alone. I'm here for you, alright? Just...take your time. Please...talk to me.”

Akihiko's words were like a shock of cold water to his face, jolting him enough to keep from spiraling into the pit of self-loathing that had opened up like a hungry, gaping maw in his brain, and he blinked at his best friend in disbelief, wondering if he could really be so blind to the irony of this entire situation. Of all the people to sit and lecture him on trying to power through his problems on his own, Aki seemed like the least qualified to do so. Hell, that was like Aki's  _ entire thing!  _ Why go through all the bullshit of actually feeling your feelings when you could just cold-clock them instead, pummel them with your fists until you couldn’t tell if your eyes were burning because they were full of sweat or full of tears?

Or maybe, it had been Akihiko’s way, anyways. Before he had died for awhile. Before Minako had died forever.

Just like he wasn't the same Shinjiro that Akihiko had grown up with, this Aki was definitely someone different from the one he'd known as well. Whether these changes had been sculpted by the steady, ever present hands of time or the cruel, striking chisel of grief, it didn't really mean shit in the present moment. The work was already done, and here they sat now- perfect strangers who understood each other perfectly well, standing on the opposite shore the other had first started from.

_ To run from your problems without looking back or look them square in the eye and fight til you were a bloody mess? Either one had to be taken care of all on your own… right? _

When had the old Akihiko up and died? When had this imposter, so mature, so steadfast in his beliefs, taken his place? How could he handle missing the two most important people to him at once like this?

The thought made his head and heart ache in tandem pain, and Shinjiro let his head fall back into his pillow with an exhausted sigh. He wasn't made for this kind of emotional bullshit. Give him an opponent he could break into pieces under his fists or boots and he'd be golden, absolutely a-okay to go! But dealing with this weird vacuum in his own heart and head, where he simultaneously was feeling way too much and nothing it all-

He was totally beat.

“Take your time,” Akihiko coaxed him again, “It doesn't have to be all at once. Start small.”

“ _ Tch.  _ Small, right.” Shinjiro turned his face down into his pillow and huffed, and it seemed like that was where he'd stay, and all he would say- when one word struggled its way small and quiet into the air. He had barely felt his lips move to breathe it at all, but he did feel something shift inside him when he did, like the very first pebble to come tumbling down the mountain before a total rockslide.

“Nothing.”

He felt Akihiko shift his weight on the bed, settling in now that he knew he had gotten him started. “Nothing?” He parroted back carefully, not to mock him, or pity him, but encourage him on further. If his answer had caused him any confusion, he was mindful to keep it from his tone.

“Yeah,  _ nothing.  _ And I don’t mean it in the bullshit ‘ _ oh nothing is wrong’  _ kind of way, like you could obviously tell. Aki, I really mean that I feel like...empty.” Shinjiro sighed, and he brought his hand up over his heart, slowly curled his fingers in and out of a fist above it.

_ Breathe in. Breathe out. _

_ To hurt. To be hurt. _

He had been expecting Akihiko to question him on this, maybe even call him out that there was no way he could be feeling nothing at all if he kept lashing out so emotionally, so dramatically, but the other boy remained blissfully silent, giving him complete control of the conversation's direction. If he wanted to elaborate further, he could, or he had a suspicion if he wanted to randomly bring up a recipe for three cheese souffle and discuss that instead the other boy would let him ramble about that just as easily.

As Shinjiro was debating what to do, his mind and his heart fiercely debating over what his mouth was going to say, he heard Minako’s voice again, as he had heard it earlier in the hallway outside her room. Unlike before though, it seemed less like he was just imagining what she  _ would  _ have said in the present situation, and more like he actually  _ did  _ hear her speak. Her words seemed to float in from everywhere, as soft and faint as the dust particles dancing in the dying sunlight coming in through his window. The more closely he tried to focus on where they had come from and where they were going, the harder it was for him to understand. So with a deep breath he closed his eyes and let them flow into his ear as easily as he would a beautiful song.

_ “Shinji...let it all go. Please talk with Akihiko-senpai and let all your hurt go. The sadness. The anger. The regret. It’s no good for you, for anyone, and you know it too. Don’t be afraid, senpai! Be brave, be strong like I know you are. Let it all go…  _ let me go.”

His fist moved up from clutching at his chest to his face, followed in suit by the other as he blinded himself by pulling his beanie all the way down over his eyes with trembling fingers, like he was nothing more than a child playing hide and seek from all the scary, unfair shit out in the world. He didn’t care that Akihiko was watching him, he didn’t care how stupid and small he must’ve have looked in that moment. How could she be saying...how could he be thinking-

“I…You know I  _ can’t  _ just- _ ”  _

Akihiko’s hand was back on his shoulder, trying to keep him anchored. His voice was a little taut with ill-concealed worry as he asked, “Shinji? You can’t what? Are...are you alright? We can stop here if-”

“Aki, I am just…” his voice broke just as the dam inside of him did and for the second time that day he found himself dissolving into ugly tears.

_ Drink up, cruel world! Drink up! _

“So fucking angry. I'm angry at how fucked up everything has to be all the time. Today, yesterday, and all the days before that...my whole fucking mess of a life, your mess of a life, and...and Miki’s. And Ken’s. And just  _ everyone’s  _ life is messed up, it’s absolute  _ bullshit! _ And I'm pissed off at all of you, because you got all this extra time, and all these happy memories with Minako that I wanted for myself. You got to go on trips with her, and go to festivals and school and all this other dumb shit but it’s not dumb because you got to do it with  _ her.  _ Akihiko, you know none of that shit matters to me, you know I couldn’t care less for that shit, but if it had been with her by my side I would have loved every fucking minute. I feel like none of you even understand how special that is, all those days, all those minutes you got with her while I was wasting away with a bunch of machines doing my living for me. And that makes me angry with myself for being such a moron for thinking that. Of course your time with her mattered to you, to all of you, because if it didn’t none of you would be hurting the way you are now, the way I feel entitled to feeling all by my damn self just because she told me that she loved me. I’m not just a dumbass but I’m  _ selfish  _ too _.  _  And yeah, you know what else? As much as I miss Minako, and yeah, as much as I love her, I'm really fucking pissed at her too. I made her promise to look after all of you guys, to take care of you with everything she had and that idiot kept her word and did  _ just that.  _ I never meant that she should die saving everyone playing the fearless, selfless leader! I didn't want her to think that her life meant less in comparison to everyone else's, or even the whole damn world! Because she was… to me Minako was...in that little bit of time we had… dammit, when I had nothing in my past to be proud of and no future ahead to look forward to, Aki...she was my  _ everything.  _ And now,” wheezing pathetically through his own tears, Shinjiro turned back over on his side and away from Akihiko, tucking into himself like the black hole in his chest was trying to devour him from the inside out, and just barely managed to choke out, “There's nothing left, Aki. Nothing left of her, nothing left for me.  _ Nothing.” _

__

He tried to remember how much he had cried when his parents had died, but the memory was far too foggy, had happened way too early, for him to recall clearly. He knew he had cried a lot,  _ a lot a lot,  _ when his grandmother had died a few years after that and the lady with the blue suit and a smile as shiny as the car she drove him in had taken him to his new home and iron bunk at the orphanage. Then he had gotten tough and mean and cold and the tears had stopped for a long, long time. The smiles went with them during that time, too, leaving him a stony faced, scary looking child no one wanted to adopt. He wouldn't smile, and wouldn't cry again until after he met Akihiko and Miki, and then he had done plenty of both for awhile, like any normal kid would. At first, their little trio had definitely shared more laughs and smiles than tears...and then quick as a spark to a dry, dangerous building their now even smaller duo was reduced to more tears and not much else.

Like a wave, he had willed himself to unfeeling stone again and for the most part didn't smile or cry for the next couple of years. He hadn't been a kid for a long long time, not really, but in that time he also finally stopped looking like one. His hair grew as long as his legs did and his voice became low and hoarse, crushed into gravel by life's cruelty and all the crying he had done growing up. He was an adult now, a real man, and no one would be giving him  _ shit  _ anymore, especially now that he had...

The first time he saw Castor, summoned him by his own command, he had actually whooped with joy, thrilled by the power he felt staring up at the shining black steed, smug he had finally caught up with Akihiko, who had already gotten quite comfortable with Polydeuces. Naive in his excitement, he did not see the glint in the horseman's eye as dangerous, as cruel as the lance held aloft in his fist. His eyes had been filled with stars then, of dreams of justice and heroism.

These would all be flushed out the night Castor murdered, no,  _ he  _ murdered, Ms. Amada with Akihiko and Mitsuru at his side. Panicked by the sight of all the blood, of the anguished screams coming from the small kid kneeling before the broken body that had just been a living person moments ago, the three of them had bolted until neither one of them could breathe, could take another step. Finally hiding themselves like rats near the bridge, Mitsuru had begun making phone calls to her dad and to the chairman, her voice high pitched with worry as she explained through shuddering breaths-

“Something went wrong...lost control.... _ possible civilian casualty…” _

He had been kneeling on the ground just a few feet away, unable to stand for reasons that went far beyond their sprint through the city. At first he had been numb with shock, unable to believe what Castor had done, what Castor had made him do. This numbness kept him cold and safe and deaf and blind to everything until that one word-  _ casualty.  _ What a clean, tidy word for something so fucking messy, he remembered thinking. That wasn’t the right word for what had happened at all.

_ “No.”  _ Castor had agreed, his voice suddenly bearing down upon him like a trample of hooves, the sound coming from everywhere around him as well as from deep within himself, dark and vicious and cruel. He had tried to cover his ears from the sound of it, but the act did nothing to muffle the darkness coming from his own heart, his own brain.  _ “What transpired was a slaughter, of which  _ we  _ were victorious. We should be rejoicing yet here you sit and cower, unworthy and afraid of the power I gift you with. You absolute fool, you bastard of weakness, heed my words and heed them well- I am thou, and thou art I. If it is a murderer you think of me, then it is a murderer you truly are. As long as you serve as my vessel, I swear this oath to you that we will not cease raging this war until we have conquered every last soul that trembles before us. Even if it includes  _ your’s.”

Then to punctuate his fury, Castor had lifted his lance high above his head, just as he had done in the alleyway not even an hour ago, and he violently stabbed forwards, his nightmare steed letting out a shrill war cry of its own-

And the pain had been so excruciating, so unlike any other suffering Shinjiro had ever endured, that he hadn’t even been able to cry actual tears at the hands of it. But when he was forcibly woken up later in custody of the Kirijo Group, they needed his testimony and they needed it _ now _ \- his eyes had been swollen and his chest had been burning. Inside, he was already beginning to die.

__

That had been the last time he had cried for real, and that had already been years ago. So it was strange to be crying this hard again after such a long time, and absolutely miserable to add losing Minako to his list of things that had been successful in breaking him so completely. Pushing up his beanie just enough to rub at his eyes, which were raw and tender and stung at his touch, Shinjiro thought miserably to himself that the only place any lower he could be than where he was right now must have been hell itself. 

He was wondering if hell would be as empty as he felt inside, if he would be the only one there forever, when he was reminded that right there in his room, in that very moment, he wasn’t alone at all.

Seemingly unfazed by his breakdown, his rambling tear-soaked spectacle, Akihiko's voice floated over the cold wall of his turned shoulder to settle gentle as a hymn in his one upturned ear. “Y'know, Shinji, there's this lie about when you suffer a great loss, nothing remains. That every happy thing, every good feeling that person brought you disappears with them. But it's just not true.” 

Shinjiro could feel his friend's eyes on his back, the fire burning in them as he spoke on. It wasn’t a fire meant to burn, but one meant to bring warmth and comfort. “There's always something that fights to remain, that fights to keep on living. But it can't do it without our help. You have to lean right into the pain, and stare past the darkness, to be able to see the light that keeps shining on. It's something you have to choose to do. And more than that, it's something-” Akihiko's hand was firm on his arm, and Shinjiro let his eyes roll slowly open to meet his gaze, which was filled with a level of patience he would have never thought possible in the hot headed, crybaby boy he'd grown up with, “You don't have to do alone.”

Akihiko lifted his hand off his shoulder but did not fully retract it back to his side. Instead he turned it open and sideways, an invitation for Shinjiro to take it, to accept the little bit of help he needed to pull himself back together.

There was nothing pitiful on his face, no heart-shredded sympathy in his eyes. Shinjiro realized he could turn back over and ignore Akihiko's outstretched hand to sink deeper into his despair, or even go as far as to slap it away from him with some kind of curse, giving in to the rage burning in the deepest pit of his stomach, and Akihiko would still remain by his side, his hand outstretched for as long as it took.

_ I'm not running away. And I'm not gonna fight you, either. I'm going to wait for you as long as it takes. _

That's the resolve Shinjiro felt from his best friend as he stared at him, and he felt his mouth quirk into a small, but proud smirk.

“Jeez, Aki…” He sighed, turning over so he could finally clasp his hand tightly in turn, even allowing himself to be hauled up into a sitting position. There was a painful rush of his blood to his head at the sudden change in position, and without a single fuck left to give, no fight left in him to be the stronger, tougher man when Akihiko obviously had him beat, Shinjiro let himself lean heavily against his best friend's head and shoulder for support. In a thin voice, hoarse with tears, he jabbed at him, “When did you finally decide to up and be a man, huh?”

It was all he could do to save at least a little face after everything.

Akihiko took it all in stride, only gently pushing back to help keep him upright. Chuckling, he gave his hand a firm squeeze and quipped back, “Oh, I dunno, Shinji. Probably when you decided to up and play dead for six months like the world's most stubborn opossum?”

As morbid as the joke was, the banter was so normal between them, something so familiar in a time that had been anything but for the last month, that last horrible hour, the boys couldn't help but break into rowdy laughter, and after doing nothing but getting pissed off and crying, something about it felt like a victory to Shinjiro, like even if it only lasted for a\this single moment, he was at least able to stare his pain in the face and tell it to fuck off and let him enjoy himself a minute.

“Heheh, hey now. Don't go thinkin’ you can start talking shit to me just cause I said you're a man now. I'll still knock you flat on your ass, y’know?” Shinji warned him with a playful gleam in his eye, and jostled him roughly with the edge of his shoulder, trying to knock him just a bit off balance where he sat on the edge of the bed.

“Haha, yeah, whatever you-  _ woah!” _

There was a sudden, muffled rattle, and Akihiko abruptly lunged forward to grab a box that had nearly gone toppling from his lap. Shinjiro hadn't even noticed he had had it with him this entire time, and blinked in surprise at how tightly his friend clutched at it, how important its contents seemed to be to him.

He opened his mouth to ask what was inside, but considering what Aki had been up to all day, the answer was obvious. Gaze flickering from the box to Aki's face, his fingers began to pull and clench into involuntary fists in his lap, sharp white peaks in his knuckles to red half-moon crevices below in his palms. He noticed Akihiko staring hard at his hands, and turning a scowl towards his coat lying crumpled near the door, simply willed them to lay flat against his thighs. There was nothing to be done of the tremble in his fingers, though, so he simply croaked, getting right to the point,

“What did you find?”

“These are…” Akihiko let out a long, deep exhale through his nose, and nervously drummed his fingers atop the lid. The cardboard made the noise muffled, soft sounding. He seemed like he was trying to gather his words in the proper order, speak them in a way that would upset him the least, but then realized there was no need for that kind of vocal tip-toeing between them now, not after what had just happened. Despite their best attempts, they were both shit at putting things delicately, and had been through far too much already to break under the weight of just a few words. Nodding resolutely to himself, Akihiko pushed the box from his lap into Shinjiro's. “It's proof.”

“Uhh, proof?”

The box was a lot lighter than Shinji had been expecting, and as he shifted it around in his hands he couldn't feel much rattling around inside. In the least there was something small and smooth, which he heard jumping easily around the sides and bottom, and something soft muffling up the bottom.

“Proof of what I was talking about earlier. That something  _ always remains. _ Shinji, you don't have to open it today if you're not ready, but-”

Without ceremony, without hesitation, Shinjiro opened the box and peered inside.

He'd been right in guessing there wasn't much within the box, just five things in all.

__

Taking up most of the box was a folded scarf, maroon and black striped with thin lines of silver and obviously hand-made with a great amount of care. It was soft as could be under his fingers, and as he unfolded it from the box, a note card fluttered out like a small moth sleeping from within. The message had been inked in a festive red color,  and was speckled generously with doodled hearts, bells, and snowflakes. It was the same exact handwriting from the notebook he’d been flipping through earlier, but a little less tidy, a little more carefree and cheerful.

__

_ Merry Christmas, Shinji-senpai!  _

_ I figured you'd need a nice scarf to keep you warm along with your hat and coat, so I made you one myself in sewing club. It's made with lots of hard work and time, and all my love for you. I hope you feel it whenever you wear it. _

_ I can't wait to give it to you, you’re gonna look even cuter than usual with it on! So wake up soon sleepyhead, okay? _

_ I love you. I miss you. See you soon. _

_ Always yours, _

_ Minako _

__

Shinjiro ran his thumb in slow, careful circles over where she had signed her name, the gentle indentation of where she'd pressed pen to paper, where the weight of her hand had once been. He stopped only to ghost his fingertips over her closing line, the promise she'd seemingly vowed to him,  _ always yours. _

_ Always.  _ No matter how long it took, how much time passed, infinite numbers of clean white boxes in a calendar that'd never be checked off... _ forever.  _ She had also promised to see him soon, but it seemed their sooner was just going to have wait for later.

Shinjiro didn’t mind, he could be patient when it counted, and this- wrapping the scarf around his face and neck with a deep sigh, absolutely feeling all the time that had gone into every careful stitch, all the kind and tender thought that had brought it into existence and made it so soft, Shinji felt warm, truly warm, for the first time in forever, and realized he could wait as long as he needed to as long as he got to see her again at the end of things.

_ Love you too, always... _

“It really suits you, Shinji. She did a great job.”

He had been so lost in thought, in his emotions, that he had nearly forgotten about the weight sinking opposite of him on the bed. He looked up to see Akihiko grinning with soft, misty-eyed approval, and he quickly had to bury his own face a little deeper into the scarf to hide the tremble in his lip.

_ Hell no, no way, nope! He was done with crying today, thanks a lot! _

“Y-yeah? Thanks...Uhh, thank you, Aki. She did. She…’ he stopped to take a deep breath, catching the faintest hint of her scent within the scarf, and it filled him with a sense of courage he didn’t know he had in him at all, “She sure did.”

__

The next object Shinjiro withdrew from the box was one he snatched out of instant recognition, like he was suddenly reaching for the outstretched hand of an old friend he hadn't seen in a long time, or to pet an exceptionally cute dog out on the street.

“Hmm?” Akihiko himself noticed the speed in which his hand dove for it, and leaned in curiously to see for himself what had sparked his interest so. “Oh yeah, it's your-”

“Fruit knife, yeah. The one the orphanage gave me.” Shinjiro confirmed, turning the familiar and well used utensil over in his palm. The handle had gone a bit soft with use and with time, the inscription all but worn away completely now, but the blade itself was still in great shape, with a smooth clean edge that glinted even in the dim light of his room. 

He had always tried his best to maintain good care of it, and it seemed like Minako had too in the time she'd been borrowing it. He smiled with gratitude, and mused aloud, “You know, I never did find out why she needed this in the first place. The kitchen here had one in the knife block and she still asked for mine anyways.”

Akihiko scratched at the bandage over his brow and shrugged. “I couldn't tell you either, Shinji. Girls are kind of weird like that, aren't they?”

Eyes glinting like the knife in his hand, Shinjiro couldn't help but tease, “Heh, like you're one to talk about being weird, Mr. Protein and Speedos.”

Cracking good-humored smiles at each other, Akihiko slugged Shinjiro hard in the arm before finally admitting, “Actually, when Fuuka saw the knife she said it was the same one Minako usually used in their cooking club. She said she used it for all sorts of things. Chopping, peeling… Fuuka even has a picture of a strawberry she cut to look like a flower. It's pretty impressive, you should ask to see it sometime.”

Shinjiro gazed down at the small knife, carefully considered how much it had been through since he'd first held it in his hand. It had served him well when he'd first been learning the ways of the kitchen, held so many lessons for its tiny size. This one paring knife had taught him that unlike in the outside world, precision was more important than power, that patience took priority over speed. It had shown him that you didn't need a whole lot in order to get a whole lot done, that if you were creative enough an entire list of work could be whittled down by a single little blade, one careful step at a time. 

From what Akihiko had just told him, it seemed Minako had learned its lessons as well, and then some.

Shinjiro tried to picture how the knife must of looked in Minako's hand instead of in his, her dainty fingers dancing the blade across a strawberry until it wasn't just a berry but a flower too, existing as both at once. He had seen similar techniques in his magazines, bright bouquets of colorful fruit flowers topping fancy desserts and drinks, but had never tried it out for himself. It just wasn't his usual style of cooking, too fancy, too delicate but…

“Maybe I will ask to see it, sometime.” Shinjiro agreed, carefully setting the knife aside after giving the handle one more squeeze. It seemed like there was still a little bit more the knife could teach him yet, if he was willing to try.

__

While he had been quick to snatch back the paring knife, it took Shinjiro a long time to unpack the next two items from the box. He spent a while simply staring down at the all too familiar sight of them, blinking slowly, in disbelief, to fight back the burning saltwater that had suddenly been flicked into his eyes.

“Oh…”  His mouth suddenly feeling very dry, he finally managed to croak out from behind his newly acquired scarf, “Oh shit. Are these...are these really ‘posed to be in here, Aki?”

Akihiko didn't even need to glimpse into the box to know what Shinjiro was referring to, and met his uncertainty with a small, sad smile and a nod of his head. “Yeah, they are. They’re all yours Shinji.”

With a loud sniff, he swiped at his leaking eyes with the back of his arm and attempted to joke, his words only cracking a little around the edges, “You didn’t take a page outta my book and steal ‘em, did you? Because then it’d be my turn to kick your ass real good, you thief.”

When Akihiko threw his head back to laugh in response, Shinjiro saw tears of his own glistening in his lashes, but the other boy played them off well as he flicked them from his eyes nonchalant as could be, acting as if they were born from his laughter alone and not some hidden pain deep in his heart. “Haha! of course I didn’t steal them, you moron! Aigis was actually the one who packed them in there, if I’m being honest. She insisted on it, and we all agreed that you deserved to have them more than anyone.”

A sudden rush of affection and gratitude swelled up in Shinjiro's chest right then at the thought, like a paper lantern rising colorful and aglow into a soft night sky, and it gave him the push he needed to tenderly lift Minako's headphones and mp3 player out of the box so he could hold them before his eyes, marvel that something so incredibly important to Minako was there in his hand at all.

“Don’t get wrong on this, Aki. You have no idea how grateful I am that you guys decided to keep these for me…” And truly he was, from the bottom of his heart. Minako herself had told him that these were her most prized possessions, and even if she hadn’t say anything verbally, it showed nonetheless in the way she was never without them, the tranquil, beautiful look she’d wear on her face whenever she was enjoying a song she especially enjoyed through them. These were more than just a gift, they were, well… they were  _ everything.  _ But they also weren’t supposed to be there with him, or anywhere at all for that matter, and the realization that something very delicate and very serious had out of nowhere shifted into his favor left him feeling disquieted, and he carefully murmured, not looking to start a fight about it, “But this wasn’t what we all agreed on, before, is it?”

“I know, Shinji, I know.” Akihiko did not lower his eyes, did not look away as he replied calmly, but there was a subtle twitch in the corner of his brows that gave away that he was a little more bothered by the whole ordeal than he was letting on. “We all agreed to leave them with Minako when she...when they cremated her. We all thought it’s be better for her to go listening to the music she loved so much instead of the sound of the furnace, right? It's what we all wanted for her.” Akihiko's composure crumpled just a little bit more at the memory of Minako’s body laid out in the room next to one that would swallow her whole in fire and flame, the headphones gleaming shiny and red over her ears, the mp3 lovingly tucked under her folded hands, and he momentarily ducked his eyes behind his hand, his knuckles still ugly and bruised from punching the hallway wall earlier that morning, and he said again, like the words were a mantra to keeping him from forgetting that he was supposed to mean it,  _ “I know.” _

The break in Aki's voice gave Shinjiro pause, and he closed his eyes with a deep inhale through his nose, catching another faint whiff of Minako from the scarf. It was sweet and warm and a little spicy, like ginger, or clove. It reminded him to be patient, to be kind, just a little more softer around the edges than normal. For his sake, for Aki's, for Minako's resting spirit. 

When he reopened his eyes and spoke, it was with the same low, patient tone Akihiko had been using on him throughout this entire ordeal. “Yeah, Aki. It’s alright. It was a really important call, one I agreed with too.That’s why I wanna know what changed. Why did Aigis take them off her after we all made that choice together? If you don’t know, it’s fine. I can always ask her myself later-”

“No, no. It’s fine, _I’m fine._ S-sorry, Shinji.” Akihiko stopped rubbing furiously at his eyes to dismiss the idea with a wave of his hand. He took a moment to roll his neck and crack it, compose himself, before he finally explained- “She told us she took them because it's not _actually_ what Minako wanted. What she did want was for you to have them, though, Shinji. She told Aigis so that morning...Uhh, not the morning of the funeral, obviously, but the morning she-”

Listening to Akihiko bumble his way further and further into the awkward explanation he was attempting to make, Shinji cut him off as politely as he could manage, “Yeah, Aki.I got it.”

The room seemed to swell and stretch with the silence that settled between them then, both boys lost in a deep fog of their own thoughts. Shinjiro kept turning the mp3 over and over in his hand, examining its many small buttons and digital green screen like he had found a great and wonderful treasure. It really was one in his eyes.

__

One of his fondest memories he had of Minako was the chilly night they had spent on the bench at the shrine. He should have known he was in deep shit the second he hadn’t wanted to go back to the dorms where the others were despite the cold, but he couldn’t see it then. The only person he wanted to be with in that moment was the sweet lil spitfire smiling up at him, her eyes and cheeks glowing in the lantern light, and the only place he wanted to be was close by her side. He wanted them to be alone together for just awhile longer.

He wasn’t ready to leave even after he’d noticed the tremble in Minako’s shoulders, the chill making its way through her tiny frame, so he had promptly shed his heavy coat to drape over her body, and had tucked her in close and snug beneath his arm, her face pressed close to his chest. Oh no, they weren’t going anywhere just yet. 

“Better?” He’d asked her, trying hard not to notice how easy it would have been to kiss her with the way their heads were angled towards one another in that moment, just a quick nod forwards. God, how badly he had wanted to...he really should have done it, made it into another happy memory instead of the gnawing regret it was now.

She had giggled in response, and he felt the sound tremble and dance all the way through his chest like it was leaving a burst of fireworks in its wake. “Mmm-hmm, much better, senpai!” And she had raised a sleeve puddled hand to gratefully squeeze his chest in a warm side hug, press her face even closer into his shoulder. “It’s so much warmer by your side like this. You’re much cozier than you look.” And seemingly incapable of quitting her incessant teasing no matter the mood, had added with an all-knowing wink and a playful poke of her tongue, “But your heart’s beating so loud it’s kinda hurting my ears, y’know?”

He had felt the blush crawling its way hot and red all the way up from his neck up to his ears, leaving his cheeks and nose scorched in its wake, and had promptly tossed his head away from her to glare off into the distance, rattled by how easily she could press his buttons like that. He was a tough guy, a badass from the streets- he wasn’t even supposed to  _ have  _ buttons to push, dammit! 

“S-shuddup-!” was all he had managed to snap back at her, but even then he could feel the smile on his flushed face, big and dopey looking as fuck. If she wanted to tease and joke, two could play at that game. “You’re just hearing things, Minako. You probably got old lady ears from listening to those headphones of yours all the time. You’re gonna be using one of those big ass funnels to hear with before you know it.”

“Oh!” Rather than swat at him like he’d been expecting her to, Minako perked up immediately at his jest, and immediately began to fiddle with the mp3 player swaying at her chest, pushing up the too-long sleeves of his coat with a huff when they got in the way. The sight made him snicker, and she’d elbowed him for that one at least.

She stared into the digital glow of the screen for a little bit, her thoughtful face washed in alien green light, before she seemed to find the song she was looking for and smiled in triumph. Wordlessly, she reached down to one of her earphones and clipped it over her ear, before grabbing the other and offering it out to him. “Since you shared your coat with me, Shinji-senpai, I’ll share my music with you! Deal?”

“Heh, yeah. Deal.”

He had to pull his beanie up over his ear and push back some of his unruly hair before he could try to slip the earphone on himself, but his fingers were clumsy and unfamiliar with the task, and laughing bright as a bell, Minako had happily leaned in even closer to simply do it for him. “Like this, see?” She had murmured, and her breath had been so warm, so sweet right on his cheek and jaw he had nearly keeled over right there on the spot, the autumn night suddenly feeling much more like a summer one.

With his heart pounding harder than before, Shinjiro was beyond grateful for the distraction the music provided when Minako finally settled back down against him and pressed play. As the song started, all soft drums and a melancholy guitar, she let her eyes flutter softly close like some wonderful magic was washing over her completely, let it carry her away. Shinjiro kept his own eyes wide open, unwilling to look away from the sight of her, willing his brain to hold onto the memory as tightly, as vividly as it could, hoping that maybe when he was dying here soon it would be the last thing he thought of, lovely and fleeting.

_ “To die by your side,”  _ the singer crooned, sounding lonely even while deeply in love,  _ “Well, the pleasure, the privilege is mine…”  _

And so the two of them sat quietly together for a while longer yet under the glow of the shrine’s lanterns, sharing in each other’s warmth, the delighted comfort of knowing the other was exactly where they wanted to be. Even as the night pressed in a little later, a little darker around them, neither one of them was worried about it at all, the song promising them like a prayer,

_ “Oh, there is a light and it never goes out…” _

__

The memory cleared from Shinjiro’s eyes like mist dissipating in the morning sunlight, and when he fully came to he found Akihiko in rough shape beside him. It seemed like whatever road his thoughts had taken him down had not been nearly as pleasant as the one Shinjiro had just been traveling on. He had sunk his head low into his hands and from where his elbows were propped up on his knees, he was obviously struggling to keep himself together. 

_ He's had a real long fucking day… Clearing out Minako's room, dealing with my punk ass… I've really put poor Aki through it. _

Shinjiro stared at him and thought hard about what he should say to cheer him up. He was unsure if he should keep it blunt and to the point in his own style, not say too much but make sure what little he did spit out actually meant something important. He could actually do that pretty well, sometimes, when he tried.

He also debated trying to follow his lead completely and give some rousing, insightful speech, but pretty words and metaphors weren't really his thing. He could have never dreamt up half the motivational poster shit Akihiko had been spinning his way earlier, talking about moving on and forwards, through darkness and...and  _ light. _

His gaze dropped down to the mp3 player in his hand, the two earphones gleaming up at him invitingly, like they already knew what he was thinking.

_ …Huh. Right. _

The two of them had done more than enough talking for the day, probably enough to last them a lifetime. Maybe a bit of listening was what they both needed instead.

Straightening up a bit from his comfortable slouch, Shinji scooted himself closer to his friend's side and knocked him with his knee to catch his attention. “Hey. Aki?”

When Akihiko finally  looked up at him, all red rimmed eyes and knitted brows, Shinjiro was already wearing the one earphone for himself. The other he held out expectantly in his outstretched palm. “I wanna share something with you.”

__

The two boys listened to Minako’s mp3 player together for a long time, leaning shoulder to shoulder and supporting one another. They listened to the sad songs that struck them in their chests hard as sledgehammers, and the upbeat ones that got their toes tapping and their heads nodding along to the beat. There were some songs they recognized hearing before on the radio or from on tv, and many more they had never heard before in their lives, would have never predicted would be hiding in Minako’s playlists. Her taste in music reflected her personality incredibly well, though- As unpredictable as it was, there was always something new to marvel over, something wonderful to discover. The more they listened on, the more songs they let pile up in their heads like hidden gems for them to dig up again later on, and the more quiet the pain in their hearts seemed to become. It reminded Shinjiro of an old myth he’d read in a book as a child, when all the demons of the underworld and all the grief and suffering they wrought were momentarily soothed into a peaceful slumber by the sound of Orpheus’ harp. 

Though they had simply been enjoying the music in comfortable silence for awhile, it was during an especially powerful, swelling drama of a song that Akihiko finally spoke up again. He had risen up from his broken slouch by then, his shoulders squared proud and strong once more like the champion he was. He spoke with his chin held high, his voice steady. “If there really is some kind of weird power found in music, it’s no wonder she was strong enough to be our leader _. _ ”

Shinjiro smiled in immediate agreement, thinking of all the times he’d caught her wearing her earphones as they stormed around Tartarus. At first he thought she’d been stupid to do so, leaving herself distracted and robbed of one of her senses just so she could enjoy some tunes, but now he could see that it might have been something more than that- each song really did seem to be full of some special magic, something that might have helped drive her forward through the violent, green fogged madness of the tower. “Yeah, no foolin’.” 

He had actually grown kind of painfully stiff from sitting still for so long at that point, and stretched out his arms to help relieve some of the tension in his shoulders when there came a sudden clatter of something falling to his bedroom floor.

_ Ah shit- _

He had completely forgotten about the box sitting on the side of him opposite Akihiko, and with the scarf wrapped around his neck, the music player in his hands, and the fruit knife safely set aside on his bedside table, he had also forgotten there was still something left waiting for him to discover inside of it.

His knees popping in unstretched protest, he knelt down to the floor with a wince and moved the cardboard box aside so he could see what it was, and found himself for the second time that day holding another one of Minako’s notebooks in his hands. Like the others, its spine was soft and heavily cracked from being repeatedly opened and closed and it felt heavy in his hands, like she had filled every page, every line to the brim with words. It had a dark blue cover, and she had used a silver marker to decorate it with twinkling stars and a big crescent moon. Shinjiro couldn’t blame her for not wanting to draw it full, all things considered.

Unlike the others, though, this one didn’t have its subject written boldly across the cover, no declaration that it was for algebra or science, or language with a side lesson of working through the grief of having a comatose boyfriend through art. It only stated simply, the words floating serenely amongst the stars, that whatever was contained on the lined pages within was to be read  _ When We Meet Again. _

“Ken found that on Minako’s desk with some of her other books. You’re not that stupid to think it’s not for you, right, Shinji?”

He looked up to see that Akihiko had risen to his feet from the bed and was angled towards the door, like he was meaning to be going. He looked like he was about to drop with exhaustion, so Shinjiro decided not to call him out on his abrupt escape, and instead rose to his feet to meet him with the book cradled in the crook of his arm.

“I dunno, Aki.” He pondered with sarcastic uncertainty, rolling his eyes off to the side. “I spent an awful lot of time with you today, and well...I heard stupidity can be contagious-”

He cracked a shit-eating grin just as Akihiko socked him hard in the arm, and laughing rowdily, the boys traded jabs and shoves back and forth until the rough-housing gave way to something they rarely ever shared but desperately needed after a day like the one they’d just had- a tight hug.

“Thanks for everything, Aki.” Shinjiro mumbled sincerely into his shoulder, squeezing him just a bit tighter to show much he meant it. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Akihiko slapped him on the back, his chest rumbling with laughter. “Idiot, you don’t have to thank me for anything. You know I’ll always be in your corner.” He pulled back and offered him both his best smile and his outstretched fist.

It was easy for Shinjiro to return the grin, and as usual, even easier to tease him as he knocked their fists together. “Jeez, I was wondering when the boxing metaphor was finally gonna happen. Kept me waitin’ for it til the very end, huh?”

Seeing the opportunity present itself, Akihiko couldn’t help but quip back, “Oh, sorry Shinji. I’ll make sure the next one will be a real  _ knock out!  _ Heheh!”

Shinjiro walked him towards the door before he knocked his friend out for real for attempting such a lame joke, but Akihiko stopped himself in the middle of the doorway, apparently one last question fresh on his mind.

“Shinji, will you...You’ll come down and eat dinner with all of us later, right?”

__

He lowered his gaze to the floor and thought hard about it. He still needed to apologize to everyone, to Yukari especially. He also wanted to ask Fuuka about that picture on her phone, and talk to Ken more about their upcoming study sessions. He especially wanted to thank Aigis for keeping for her word to Minako about the mp3 player, and passing such a precious gift from her hand to his own. It must have been difficult for her to do so, maybe they could even listen to it a bit together as he and Akihiko had, if she wanted to... 

He looked up into Akihiko’s face, the worried line his mouth had become, the watery hope in his eyes. The door frame creaked a little under the pressure from where he was gripping it and yet he did not relent. He would just keep on waiting there for him, worrying about him, caring about him for as long as it took. Just like always.

Shinjiro closed his eyes and nodded once in reassurance. “Yeah, Aki. I’ll be down later.” He opened his eyes and with them came a smile, small but genuine. “I swear it.”

And he really did mean it. 

Akihiko must have sensed this too, for he broke into a grin right back at him, and simply unclutched the door frame to raise his fist in farewell. “Then… later, Shinji.”

And with one final look back at him over his shoulder, Akihiko closed the door behind him and was gone.

Shinjiro returned to the edge of his bed, sitting alone but not quite feeling like he actually was. The scarf wrapped around his neck was nice and warm, and the notebook heavy in his lap was just begging to finally be cracked open, as if the words within seemed to realize they were finally in the hands of the person they’d been written for, waiting for, after all this time.

Who was he to keep them, to keep  _ her,  _ waiting any longer?

Settling himself against the headboard, his pillow at his back, Shinjiro flipped to the very first page in the book, and it was like Minako was there, cuddled against his side, babbling happily in his ear.

_ Hey Shinji-senpai! _

_ Today Mitsuru-san just told me it might be a long time, maybe even a  _ really  _ long time before you wake up again. She even tried to tell me there’s a chance that it might never happen at all, but… I just can’t believe that. I have too much faith in you to believe you’d ever just give up so easily, not without putting up one hell of a fight! You’re too strong, too important, too special, to just slip away like that. I know it, and I also know that in whatever incredible dream you’re having right now, you know it too. _

_ So I’ve decided that while you’re resting up and getting better, I should keep track of all the things going on so I can fill you in as soon as you wake up! That way it’ll be like you didn’t miss a thing, like you were here with us every step of the way. I’m going to try my best to tell you everything that I can, okay, Shinjiro-senpai?  _

“Yeah, go on. Tell me.” He mused aloud, and and it was then he knew that Minako was right there with him, that she wasn't nowhere at all but in fact everywhere around him, and always would be, if only he allowed her to be. He could find her in the playful loop of her handwriting, or in the chorus of her favorite songs. She was waiting for him on the bench up at the shrine, and sleeping soundly with his shirt clutched close to her face up in her room.

She was in the hearts and minds of all their friends, and in his own too. She was with him even now, about to share with him a story that was both wonderful and sad, a story of a life they did not get to write together. 

It was a story Shinjiro was finally ready to be told. “Tell me everything.”


End file.
